


The Anniversary of That White Suit

by The_Magic_Tuba_Pixie



Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam Unicorn
Genre: Healthy Relationship AU, M/M, post-Episode 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Tuba_Pixie/pseuds/The_Magic_Tuba_Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year after the events of Episode 7, we check in on our most favorite pilots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anniversary of That White Suit

**Author's Note:**

> I have this desperate headcannon that I want everything to be okay and that their relationship isn't gross and worship and terrible. So this is that AU.

                The alarm near Angelo Sauper's head gently pushed him out of sleep.  He took a sleepy deep breath and rolled over, letting his hand flop down directy in the thickest of the curly blond chest hairs of his bedmate.  As he idly tugged on the hairs, he thought about what day it was and how carefully he was going to avoid the subject and not mention it.  However, one look at Full Frontal's eyes, staring blankly up at the ceiling, told Angelo that his careflly-laid plans were for naught.

                "Good morning," Angelo began.

                Frontal made a sound in the back of his throat and didn't move.

                "What's wrong?" Angelo asked, as if he didn't already know.

                The large blonde man took a deep breath and removed his arm from behind his head.  He let it rest atop Angelo's, idly tracing the bone pattern.  "Today is," he began.  "...Today..."

                Angelo nuzzled up closer to Full Frontal.  "Shh, I know," he said quietly.  He gently kissed the broad shoulder and squeezed Frontal's hand.  They lay there for a moment, supporting each other on the one-year anniversary of the day that boy in the white mobile suit had done ... whatever it was that he had done to leave both the Neo Zeong and the Captain of the Sleeves in ruins.  Full Frontal as Angelo Sauper's beloved captain had died that day, leaving behind a husk of a man who just happened to look very much like him.  It took many months of therapy just to get Frontal functioning again, and just as many months for Angelo to realize just how unhealthy their original relationship had been.  They were both a work in progress.

                "But we really should go to work," Frontal remarked.

                Angelo opened his eyes as Frontal rose from their bed.  He watched as his man got up from the bed, then followed suit.  Frontal's great blonde mane was tied in a tight braid that swayed back and forth as he walked to the sink.  It did not have quite the effect Frontal's cloud of hair had when he let it down-

                Angelo stopped himself.  No, Frontal had reined in his hair specifically in an attempt to distance himself with the identity of Char Aznable, and had even gone so far as to grow the beginnings of a beard (it was in its perpetual five o'clock shadow zone, but at least the stubble had a nice consistency, if it was a bit short).  It was not fair if Angelo continued to compare the man he now shared a bed and apartment with to the man he fawned over and worshipped a year ago.

                Angelo joined Frontal in the tiny bathroom and they went about their morning rotine; Frontal splashed water on his face, they ate breaksfast together, brushed their teeth, and Angelo helped make Frontal's lunch for the day.  They walked to the train station together, parting only to get on different trains: Angelo on one downtown to his desk job and Frontal to one out near the docks, where he worked a loading job.

                They said goodbye for the day and Angelo got a whole two steps before he turned on his heel and grabbed Frontal's hand. "Call me if you need anything, alright?"  He met the striking blue eyes with his own violet ones, no doubt filled with concern.

                Frontal smiled kind of somberly and nodded, squeezing Angelo's hand.  "I will."  And they were off.

                Angelo fretted all day, despite doing his best to throw himself into his work.  He kept his head buried in his monitors, trying to avoid all contact with coworkers.  He even took his lunch break an hour late to avoid the small talk that would eventually turn towards the date and its significance.

                Right at the tick of 17:00, Angelo shut down his work station, snapped his briefcase closed and all but sprinted out the door.  He shot a message to Frontal, asking if he was done with his shift yet (which Angelo knew he would be).  There was no response, which Angelo would have been used to a year ago, but Frontal's therapist had encouraged communication between them; Frontal was much better at responding nowadays.  Angelo quivered through some shops downtown as he waited on his response.  Half an hour passed and Angelo decided he might wander down to the docks.  Wander, like, casually.  Certainly not run in a near-manic state and catch the fastest train down there.

                Angelo stepped off the train and hurried towards the dock office, fearing something had happened.  An accident?  Had Frontal snapped?  He landed a gig piloting the civillian Tolro-800 Torohachi as a lifter, which he greatly enjoyed (the man lived for piloting, really), and it was a far cry from the red death machine he had masterfully danced about the battlefield, but there were similarties enough to make Angelo nervous at times.

                Angelo banged open the door and acosted the service desk, pounding the bell.  A stout, middle-aged woman wheeled her chair from elsewhere and gave Angelo an annoyed look.

                "Can I help you?"  She masterfully rolled her cigarrette from one corner of her mouth to the other.

                "Yes, I am here to see Full Frontal.  He's a dock worker here and I-"

                The woman nodded and went back to her periodical.  "Yeah, yeah, the pretty blonde one. He's in the break room down the hall."  She waved him off.  Angelo felt an old part of him begin to raise a huff at being dismissed by a simple old broad, but he reminded himself forcefully that he was no longer "above" these people and never really was, in the first place.  This was part of adjusting to civillian life.  He hurried down the hall.  As he approached the break room, he heard animated chatter of multiple voices.  Again, fearing the worst, he burst in, letting the cheap door slam into the wall suddenly.

                A group of men and women all turned to observe the intruder simultaneously.  None of them recognized the ashen-faced, pale-haired young man with the wide violet eyes except the blonde man sitting at the table, surrounded by coworkers.

                "Angelo!" Full Frontal cried.  He smiled widely and amiacably, but his eyes spoke volumes of relief.  He stretched out an arm and Angelo slipped gracefully under it.  "Guys, this is Angelo Sauper."

                A chorus of understanding undulated through the small crowd in the break room, followed by a thunderous stampede of comments.

                "We've heard so much about you!"

                "It's about time we met you!"

                "You're one lucky man, let me tell ya!"

                "We're throwing a little mini-party for Frontal, here," a particularly wide-shouldered older woman said, smacking Full Frontal on the back.  "It's been only a month since he's started work here and we've already cut our loading and unloading time by 15%!  He's really got a knack for piloting that Torohachi!"

                Frontal laughed easily along with the rest of them, but his death grip on Angelo's side told a slightly more tense story.

                Angelo leaned in close.  "You want to get out of here?" he asked, almost subadibly.

                "I thought you'd never ask," Frontal answered, equally quietly.

                "On it," Angelo said.  It sometimes worried him how well he took orders from Frontal, but he pushed that thought away as a distraction sprang to mind.  "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he said loudly, "but Frontal and I have some plans for tonight."  He gazed up at those blue eyes with a dovey look to really sell the plan.

                Frontal immediately caught on amidst the chorus of good-hearted dismay.  He smacked his forehead, almost as if he had forgotten something.  "You're right!" he exclaimed, "We had an anniversary of our own to honor."  He grinned around the room as he squeezed Angelo tighter.  "It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement."

                They managed to escape shortly thereafter, Frontal not letting go of Angelo unless he absolutely had to.  The train ride home was fairly uneventful, and it wasn't until they were both in the safety of their apartment did Frontal drop the facade.

                He collapsed onto their small couch and let his head rest against the wall behind, closing his eyes and just breathing.

                Angelo dropped down beside him and waited.

                "Thank you so much," Frontal said after a while, not moving.

                Angelo nodded.  They both knew the real reason the dock workers had thrown the party; Angelo was just glad they had the common decency to disguise it the way they did.  The two Newtypes leaving probably allowed the workers to openly celebrate the defeat of Neo Zeon.

                They sat there a while longer before Frontal let his head fall back forwards and let out a deep sigh.

                Angelo pulled at his wrist as he got up.  "Come on.  Let's get some dinner and I'll rebraid your hair.  Then we can go to bed and just put this whole thing behind us."


End file.
